


nothing to consider (love is not a choice)

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Possession, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Family Feels, First Kiss, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll, episode coda, post s13, s13 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: He says yes before Cas can talk him out of it.If this is a bad decision, Dean isn’t going to let anyone else have a say in it.





	nothing to consider (love is not a choice)

**Author's Note:**

> I highly doubt we'll ever get a real explanation for how Michael managed to take control from Dean, so here's one interpretation of it. Warning for Dean's horrible self-esteem and some non-graphic side effects of angelic possession, both physical (headaches, nausea, etc) and mental (confusion, self-doubt, etc).
> 
> Thanks to Anna for reading this over for me, as always.

He says yes before Cas can talk him out of it. 

If this is a bad decision, Dean isn’t going to let anyone else have a say in it. He hears Cas’ protests, and the rational side of him knows there’s a reason for them, knows he should stop and think about this. But all he can see is Sam and Jack, taken off God knows where by a juiced-up Lucifer, and Michael’s battered face in front of him, so quickly turning from a problem to a solution.

So he says yes.

But he isn’t completely careless, makes sure he lays down a few ground rules first. And Michael agrees. One last look at Cas, the only kind of apology and explanation he can offer, and then Michael is flowing through his veins, headier than any alcohol Dean has ever consumed. Even when he had the Mark burning on his arm, even when he was a demon, it was nothing compared to this.

He is the Michael Sword, and this is what he was born to do.

Within seconds, he’s standing in an old church, wings arching behind him. He’ll have to thank Cas for the grand entrance inspiration when this is all over. The blade falls from Jack’s hands, and then it’s nothing but the fight, nothing but Dean and Michael and Lucifer, all the weight of their tangled history behind every blow. Dean’s fury and his fierce desire to protect his family combined with Michael’s formidable strength make them a force to be reckoned with. 

But Lucifer has Jack’s power, the power he never should have had. The moment comes when Dean thinks it’s over for him, when he knows he’s lost. And in that moment, all he can think is that at least he won’t have to see Lucifer killing Sam and Jack. At least he’ll go first. It’s a stupid, selfish thought, but isn’t that par for the course for Dean Winchester.

And then Sam is calling his name, and he’s reaching out instinctively, years of synchronicity guiding his hand to the blade Sam tosses up towards him. It sinks into Lucifer’s flesh with startling slowness, and Dean watches the light gather and then fade from behind his eyes. 

They both fall to the ground, but only one set of wings is burned into the floor. 

“We did it,” he says, and he can barely believe it himself. Jack’s face is hard to read behind the blood covering it, but Sam-- Sam hasn’t looked so relieved, so light, in years. Dean’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, and he inhales sharply, overcome by the gravity of the moment.

Another clench. Tighter this time. There’s a ringing in Dean’s ears, and at first he thinks it’s just a lingering injury from the fight. But it grows louder, and he winces, looking around for the source. Sam and Jack don’t seem to notice anything wrong, still too swept up in their latest, greatest victory. Dean shakes his head roughly, and that’s when he hears it.

_That felt good, didn’t it._

It sounds like Michael, but why would he sound like the vessel he left empty on the floor of the Bunker? Before Dean can ask, Michael speaks again. _Just think what else we could accomplish. Let me stay. Just a little longer._

A series of images flash through Dean’s mind. Sam and Cas, sitting around the table in the library, arguing good-naturedly over some book. Jack talking to Mom, both of them smiling. Charlie and Bobby swapping out their combat gear for civilian clothing. 

“What is this?” Dean asks. The scene around him is frozen, and he knows he isn’t speaking out loud. This is between him and the archangel inside of him, the archangel who has apparently decided he wants to change the terms of their deal. 

Like Dean’s going to let that happen.

_This is me showing you what the world could be like. I’m new here, Dean, but I like this world already. There’s so much light, so much colour. I want to enjoy it._

“Enjoy it, or nuke it?” Dean snorts in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

_If you came from that grey, ashy, blood-soaked universe, wouldn’t this seem like a vacation to you? I’m tired, Dean. I helped you kill Lucifer. Don’t you think I’ve earned this?_

Dean wavers. It wasn’t so long ago that he said something similar to Sam, about toes in the sand and matching Hawaiian shirts. He gets it, he really does, but he doesn’t trust Michael. Not an inch.

“Find yourself another vessel. Or hell, we’ll go back and heal the other one. Then we’ll talk.” 

Michael sighs. _Oh, Dean. I hoped you wouldn’t be so stubborn, but I knew you would be. I know you, after all. Down to the very essence of what you are._

Another wave of images crashes over Dean, but they’re completely different. Cities up in smoke, people fleeing from the flames with ash running down their faces. Sam and Mom desperately facing down a wild-eyed mob. Jack, kneeling over Cas’ prone body, running his hands over the imprint of his wings in the ground.

“What is this?” Dean demands. “Is this a threat?”

_It’s a promise. Of what will happen if you don’t cooperate. It’s your choice, Dean. Eject me, and I will find another vessel. It might not last as long as you, but it will last long enough for me to tear down everything and everyone you’ve ever loved. Or let me stay, and they’ll be safe._

Fuck. Dean should have seen this coming, should have known better. Cas tried to warn him, and he didn’t listen. He’ll pay for that later. But he can handle the righteous commentary, the exasperation. Nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. What he can’t handle is letting Michael use him for a second longer.

“No.” He pours all his conviction into that one word. “No. We had a deal.”

_We did. And I’m re-negotiating._

“Yeah, well, I’m not.”

That last image appears again, but this time it lingers. Dean can’t close his eyes and look away, because it’s all inside his head: Cas, silent and still, Jack grieving over his body. And then it flips to Sam and Mom again, both of their bodies falling in slow, graceful arcs to the ground. 

Then it’s back to the first set of images: warmth, comfort, stability, home, like some sort of seriously messed-up eye exam. Which one looks better, Dean, A or B? A? Or B?

“They won’t just let this go,” he says tightly. “They’ll find a way to kick you out.”

_Maybe_. There’s something like amusement in Michael’s voice. _But maybe not. I’m only showing you the truth, Dean. Look at them._

Sam and Cas smiling, laughing together. Mom and Jack in the kitchen, a huge mess around them, but happy. 

_You’ve made a lot of mistakes, Dean. Letting me in was only one in a long line of poor decisions. Maybe they’ll be better off without you._

Dean wants to protest, wants to say it isn’t true, but before he can argue, Michael’s sending another flood of images through his mind. 

Being cruel and callous to Jack. Not realizing Cas was being held prisoner by Asmodeus. Not looking hard enough for his mom, despite Sam’s insistence that she might still be alive. Pulling a gun on Kaia. Tearing off into the apocalypse world and leaving Sam behind, then letting his anger get the best of him when he returned. Not watching out for Sam against those vampires, seeing him crumple and leaving him for dead. Shooting Jack, even knowing it wouldn’t hurt him. Leaving Cas behind in the Bunker with barely a word of explanation, let alone a goodbye.

And that’s just in this past year.

_This is the best thing you could ever do for them_ , Michael says, and for a brief, bare, bleak second, Dean believes him.

Just long enough for Michael to wrestle away his control. The ringing in Dean’s ears grows louder still, and then everything goes blissfully blank.

***

He wakes up, and the world around him is animated. Dean blinks in confusion, recognizing the cartoon style of Scooby Doo. Distantly, he hears a voice that sounds like Fred’s, so he follows it down the hall, and they’re all there, the whole Scooby gang, all of them breaking into smiles when he enters.

“Hi, Dean,” Daphne says, practically purring, but this isn’t right, this was a childish fantasy and while it was fun to indulge for a few minutes, it won’t distract him now. He shakes his head, holding his hands up to ward her off, the sight of his own animated body making him feel sick to his cartoon stomach.

“No,” he whispers, and the scene dissolves.

He wakes up, and the first thing he hears is waves gently lapping at the shore. A seagull cries, and he can feel the warmth of the sun on his face. Dean looks to his left and sees Sam with his face buried in a book, sunglasses perched on his nose and a beer held loosely in his hand. To Dean’s right, Cas is stretched out on a beach chair, a thin white shirt clinging to his torso in a positively indecent manner. His eyes are closed, but he wears a look of pure contentment that Dean has never seen on his face before. 

This is what he told Sam he wanted, but it still isn’t right.

“No,” he says again, and the sun’s light blinks out in an instant.

He wakes up, and he has one hand on the wheel of the Impala, the other drumming to the rhythm of the song blaring from her speakers. The road stretches out in front of him, no other cars in sight, and above, the stars glow in that way they only do in the middle of nowhere with no light pollution to dull them. He relaxes for a moment, fooled into thinking he’s on his way home, that he’ll push open the door to the Bunker and his family will look up to greet him as he comes down the stairs.

It’s almost enough to make him waver, but he looks over at the empty passenger seat and shakes his head. 

“No,” he repeats, and the music cuts off abruptly.

He wakes up, and the first thing he feels is the slide of warm skin against his own. A choked-off moan spills from his own lips as a calloused hand slides over his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoo, and Dean opens his eyes to see Cas looking down at him, his own eyes wide and dark as he presses their mouths together. Dean’s hands come up to tangle in Cas’ hair, and it’s softer than he could ever have imagined. Cas is a solid weight above him, like a shield between Dean and the rest of the world, and Dean hates this, hates that it isn’t real, hates that Michael is twisting this-- whatever it is that he feels for Cas-- into something to hurt him. 

When he finally does get Cas like this, it won’t just be in his head.

“No,” he whispers, and immediately mourns the loss of Cas’ hands on his body.

He wakes up, and he’s sitting at the table in the library. Cas is on one side of him, Charlie on the other, and when he looks further down the table he sees all of them, Bobby and his mom and Sam and Jack and Jody and Donna and the girls and everyone else. There are massive platters of food in front of them, and they’re all smiling and joking together, and Dean’s heart aches so fiercely he thinks it might actually crumble to pieces in his chest. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he says. “It won’t work. You can’t keep me here.”

_I don’t want to keep you here, Dean._ Michael’s voice is as cool and smooth as ever. _I want you to stop fighting me, and so far, it’s working. You’re so easily distracted. So full of yearning, for so many different things._ He laughs, triumphant. _We are not so different, you and I. We both want beyond our means. Let go, Dean, and let me give you what you desire._

“No.” It’s a panicked shout this time, as Michael’s plan becomes clear. He doesn’t have to find the one place that will lull Dean into a false sense of security, will keep him calm and docile and obedient. He just has to keep Dean on his toes, keep making him pause as he takes in whatever new scenario Michael has conjured for him, and by the time Dean recovers enough to resist, he’ll move on.

“No,” he says again, and the smell of food vanishes like it was never there.

It goes on and on. Dean has no idea how much time has passed, how long Michael has been walking around in his body. Michael talks to him, sometimes. Dean does his best to tune him out, but they’re sharing everything right now, brain and body fused together. After a while, Dean starts to have trouble telling his voice apart from Michael’s, and the thoughts that run through his mind could belong to either of them. 

When he’s feeling more clear, more hopeful, he thinks it can’t have been long since that day in the church, because his family would have found by him now. 

But at other times, he thinks back to what Michael showed him, his family going on without him, better off without him, and wonders if they’ve adjusted to his absence. Sam is probably enjoying not having Dean breathing down his neck for once, and yeah, he’s probably going through some crap now that Lucifer is finally dead, but Cas can understand that better than Dean ever would have. And Cas will have his hands full with Jack, who is human now and in need of more protection than ever. Jack-- well, Dean messed up with Jack. Big time. He tried to fix it, tried to put in an effort when he heard the kid having that nightmare, but he knows it was too little too late. One display of compassion isn’t going to be enough to undo all the other crap Dean pulled on him. 

They’re better off without him. Dean’s sure of it. And this way, they stay safe. They stay alive.

***

Dean wakes up again, and this time he’s shooting pool at some smoky dive bar, grinning at Sam across the table. The image goes fuzzy, and for a second he thinks he’s finally starting to lose it. A staticky buzz fills his ears, and he winces, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it.

 _Michael?_ the voice says. _Can you hear me?_

He knows that voice. The impatience in it, the severity. The pure strength of will.

Naomi.

He has no idea what’s going on, but Dean figures it’s probably important. So he stays quiet, content to listen for now, and focuses on the conversation. 

_I can hear you. It’s been a long time, Naomi._ There’s surprise in Michael’s voice, but no obvious reaction other than that. _Why are you reaching out to me now?_

_We need your help,_ Naomi says. _Heaven needs your help._

Dean can practically feel Michael perk up, taking a more active interest. _Go on._

_Let me show you_ , Naomi says, and before Dean can protest, another series of images flashes before his eyes.

Angels falling. Angels dying. Some of them at the hands of their own kind, some of them at Dean’s own. Some at Castiel’s. Naomi in hiding, only returning to Heaven in its darkest hour. The energy failing, the feeling of hopelessness. 

Dean is so damn sick of having his head used like a projector, but despite himself, he’s intrigued. Heaven can’t just fail. Even when it was being torn apart by the warring factions, it still went on. The thought of it crumbling to pieces is troubling, to put it mildly.

_We need you, Michael. We need you to help recharge Heaven,_ Naomi says. Her desperation is clear. _Please. We have no one else to turn to._

Dean winces at that. If they hadn’t dragged Gabriel along to the apocalypse world with them and gotten him killed, maybe this would have been his gig. But Michael was the one who killed him, after all, so it’s only fair that he pick up the slack.

His consciousness and Michael’s have become so intertwined, Dean can follow the direction of Michael’s thoughts as he pores over Naomi’s words, can trace the way his boredom with his time on Earth feeds into his vain need for attention, his desire to be loved or feared or even both. 

Dean was created to be Michael’s sword, to be his weapon in the battle against Lucifer, but that battle is finished. They won. And now, Michael has no purpose, no driving force. 

He has no need of Dean.

For the first time in a very long time, Dean feels a flicker of hope.

“It’s a good idea,” he says, trying not to let his enthusiasm overtake him. “You said it yourself, you wanted a vacation. Well, now you’ve had one. Time to go back to work.”

_You only say that because you want me gone,_ Michael sneers. 

“Maybe,” Dean allows. But there’s more to it than that. “Or maybe I know that if Heaven comes crashing down, my family are going to be the ones picking up the pieces. And I don’t want that for them. You told me they would be safe, and that’s how you got yourself a slice of this pie in the first place. You said you know me. So are you really surprised that I’m still thinking of them?”

He can feel Michael thinking it over, can feel the way he yearns to go to Heaven and examine the situation for himself. But they both know that if he leaves Dean’s body now, he won’t be allowed back in.

_Please,_ Naomi says again. _Michael, the angels need you. Please._

There’s a terrible, silent pause. And then Michael is the one who concedes, the one who says yes. 

_Goodbye, Dean. Thanks for the ride._

The power rushes out of Dean’s body and he screams, blue-white Grace spilling from his throat. He crumples to the ground, and once again, everything goes dark.

***

Dean wakes up in an empty field, a light breeze drifting across his face as he comes back to awareness. He stands, his knees shaky, and looks around. He has no idea where he is. His hand instinctively drifts to his pocket, and he lets out a sigh of relief when it closes around his phone. The battery is dead, of course, but it’s still a good start. Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, Dean sets off in search of somewhere to charge it up.

The sun feels too bright, the breeze too cool. Dean stares down at his hands and doesn’t recognize them. There’s a hollowness in his chest and his head aches with every step he takes, but he keeps going.

He finds an old farmhouse half an hour later. There are cows in the pasture, but no vehicles in sight, and he gives the place a thorough check for signs of activity before he breaks in. He finds a charger and plugs in his phone, then pours himself a glass of water. Slowly, he lowers himself into a chair and takes a sip, wincing at the shock of the cold liquid hitting his throat. He starts to choke, and forces himself to slow down, unaccustomed to something as basic as drinking water after his time locked away inside his own head.

There’s a newspaper on the table, and he picks it up to check the date, bracing himself for the worst. It tells him he’s somewhere in the vicinity of Columbus, Ohio, and it’s dated July 27th, so if it’s recent, he’s been gone for over two months. All things considered, that’s not so bad. 

His phone won’t need much longer to charge long enough for him to use it. He stares at it, unsure whether he wants to pick it up or not. Unsure whether he wants to reach out, or if this is his chance to disappear.

Michael might be gone, that threat neutralized for now, but without him, Dean feels strangely hollow. It’s been two months. Sam and Cas and the others have given up on him by now, he’s sure of it. He could walk away, let them go on with their lives. They don’t need him anymore, if they ever did to begin with.

In the end, the decision is made for him. As he sits there weighing his options, he hears the unmistakable sound of a truck rolling up towards the farmhouse, and he springs into action. Grabbing his phone, he’s out the back door and running across the field before he has to answer any awkward questions about why he broke into some unsuspecting family’s home.

Once he reaches the safety of the woods, he stops running. His heart is pounding, his breath coming in short gasps, and it’s strange, to feel so connected to his body again. Dean presses a hand to his chest and feels his heart rate slowly settle. And then, in the move that will be his undoing, he turns on his phone.

The number of missed calls and text messages is staggering. Even more so is the number of places they’ve come from. Sam, well, he expected that, but also Cas, Mom, Rowena, and even Ketch, plus a few unknown numbers he’s willing to bet belong to new arrivals from the other world. Dean’s heart tightens, and for a split second, he thinks Michael is coming back, thinks he’s found a loophole somehow, but then the pain fades, and it’s still just him. Still just Dean. 

All he’ll ever be. Dean Winchester, with his mistakes and his dreams and the tangled-up reasons he knows he’ll never see them come true.

“Okay,” he says out loud, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. “Fine.”

This isn’t like other times he’s come back from the dead. As far as he can tell, the world’s in no danger of ending, for once. Heaven has its issues, but Michael will sort those out. And it’s not like anyone he left behind is alone. They have each other. He’ll listen to the messages, and whatever he hears in them, it will only strengthen his resolve to stay away. 

The first one is from Sam, of course. _Dean. Call me. Now._ Predictable as ever. There are three more in the same vein, Sam’s voice getting increasingly frantic. 

Then there’s one from Mom. _Dean, please, if you’re getting this message, call us back. Please, honey._ That one makes Dean’s throat swell up, but he deletes it and moves on. 

Sam, again. And again. And then-- _Dean._ Just that one word, in Cas’ rough voice, and Dean’s eyes close as a shudder runs through him. _Dean, please. We need you to fight this. We need you to come home._

Dean doesn’t get it. Why would they keep calling him? They knew Michael was riding around in his skin, they must have known Dean wouldn’t be getting their messages. And more than that, why did they care?

He frowns down at the phone. Of course they care. They’re his family. He can’t seem to make up his mind, every statement that feels true contradicting itself just as quickly. His head is pounding and his mouth feels dry, like the worst kind of hangover. Dean takes a deep breath and finds a fallen log to sit on, his knees suddenly shaky. 

There are only two more messages. He’ll listen to them, take a few minutes to gather himself, and then he’ll go.

The next one says it’s from Sam, but it’s not Sam’s voice on the recording. It’s Jack’s.

_Dean?_ He sounds tentative, vulnerable. Human. _Dean, I’m sorry this is the only way I can try to reach you. If I still had my power, I’d be able to find you. I’d be able to fight Michael, and I’d be able to bring you home. But I don’t._ There’s a pause, and Dean can hear Jack’s nervous inhale. _You said we would deal with it together. Whatever came at us, we’d deal with it together. You made a mistake, but that’s okay, because nobody’s perfect. So please come home, Dean, and we’ll deal with it together. All of us. Because we’re family._

Dean lifts a hand to his cheek, surprised to find it wet. There’s a tightness in his throat as he plays the last message, and it only increases when he hears Cas’ voice again. _Dean. I don’t know why I’m calling again. It’s been almost two months. I know you’re not receiving our messages. But there’s so much I want to tell you. We taught Jack to drive today, and all I could think was how it should have been you, Dean. You should have been here._

He’s hitting the call button before he even thinks about it. The phone rings, and Dean drums his fingers against his leg as it continues to ring. Just before he gives up and ends the call, Cas picks up.

“Dean?” he says, a catch in his voice. “Dean, is that you?”

Nearly choking on the words, Dean says, “Yeah, Cas. It’s me.”

There’s a scuffling sound on the other end of the line, and then Dean must be on speaker, because he can hear other voices, raised in confusion and relief. “Where are you?” Cas demands. “Turn on your GPS.”

Dean does as he’s told. “Just outside of Columbus, Ohio.”

“Dean?” That’s Sam’s voice. “God, it’s good to hear from you. We’re leaving now, but even with the way we drive, it’ll take us twelve hours. Can you get somewhere safe?”

“Yes.” Dean doesn’t even hesitate before answering. He knows how to do this. He’s done this his whole life. He pats his back pocket, relieved to feel his wallet there. Michael liked to try on different outfits, different styles, but he kept Dean’s things with him for convenience. “I’ll head into town. Text you when I find a diner or something.”

“Okay. We’re on our way.” Sam lets out a little laugh, like he can’t even believe they’re having this conversation. Frankly, neither can Dean. “Sit tight.”

“You bet.” 

The other voices fade away, and then it’s just Cas on the line. “We’ll be there as soon as we can, Dean. Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

Dean almost says yes. But there’s been a bit too much of that going around lately. He shakes his head, even though Cas can’t see it. “No. I’m going to try to hitch a ride. You just-- you just get here soon, alright?”

“I will,” Cas promises, and those two simple words settle in Dean’s chest, warming him from the inside out. 

He ends the call and pulls up a map on his phone. It’s only ten in the morning, so there’s plenty of daylight left. Dean finds his way to the main road and manages to hitch a ride into town with a gruff trucker who reminds him an awful lot of Bobby. He buys the guy a coffee at the gas station where he gets out, and then heads across the street to a cozy-looking diner. 

His head still hurts, but the food and coffee help a bit. He tells the server, an older lady named Judy, that he might need to hang out until his ride arrives, and she just pats his shoulder and brings him more refills. He’s not used to this much real human interaction, let alone this level of kindness, and it exhausts him. 

The hours slowly tick by. Dean reads all the old newspapers Judy brings him, catching up on what he’s missed over the past few months. About halfway through the day, he considers leaving. Turning his phone back off and slipping away before the cavalry arrives. A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Michael’s says it’s a good idea, but Dean resists. He listens to all his messages again, the ones he didn’t delete, letting those voices drown Michael’s out. 

Dean hears the rumble of the Impala’s engine before he sees her pull up in front of the diner. Sam’s familiar figure steps out, and Dean’s out of his seat before he even realizes he’s moving, pushing open the door and barreling towards his brother. Sam’s face breaks into a relieved grin as his arms come around Dean, and a sob spills from Dean’s lips as they cling to each other.

The scratch of a blade against his arm pulls him back. “What the hell, man?” Dean asks, looking down at the angel blade in Sam’s hand.

“Sorry.” Sam grimaces. “Had to be sure.”

Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief to Dean as well, seeing nothing but a trickle of his own blood spilling from the cut. He might still hear Michael, might still feel off-balance and unsteady in his body alone, but Michael’s gone. Gone for good.

Instead, there’s Sam, still with one arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, and his mom and Bobby climbing out of the car with smiles on their faces. He hugs them both, lets his mom run her hands over his face and smiles back as best as he can.

A minute later, another familiar vehicle pulls up, and Cas is climbing out of that crappy truck of his with a look of absolute wonder on his face. Dean’s breath catches in his throat and he moves towards him, unthinking, until they’re inches apart. Cas’ eyes are wide and blue and filled with hope as he reaches out one hand and says, “Dean?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, a jerky little movement. “Yeah, Cas. It’s me. Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I just left you there and--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas says fiercely. He raises one hand and presses it to Dean’s cheek, and Dean closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. It grounds him in his body, reminds him that this is real. This isn’t one of Michael’s tricks, this is just him and Cas and all the missed opportunities over the years finally coming to a head.

He can’t find anything else to say. He opens his mouth, but Cas just looks at him, strong and steady and so fucking gorgeous it almost breaks Dean’s heart. He tries to tell him, tries to apologize again, gets as far as saying, “Cas--”

His words are cut off by Cas’ lips on his. Dean lets out a startled noise, but his hands come up to grip Cas by the waist as he pulls him closer, pouring all of his regret and his guilt and his long-suppressed yearning into that kiss. 

Someone clears their throat, and Dean pulls back, more than a little dazed. Cas smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corner, and there’s so much Dean still wants to say to him. But then he looks across the back of the truck and sees Jack smiling at them, one hand raised in that ridiculous wave of his, and Dean can’t help it.

He starts laughing, overcome with the relief of being surrounded by his family once more. He gestures towards Jack, who comes around the truck with a giant grin on his face, like he couldn’t be more excited to see Dean, and wraps him in a hug he must have learned from Sam, all tightness and comfort.

“Hey, kid,” Dean says. “Heard you learned how to drive. These assholes better not have let you learn on Baby.”

“No, of course not,” Jack assures him, all earnest. “We used Cas’ truck for lessons.”

“Good.” Dean looks at Cas over Jack’s head, and Cas just shrugs. “That’s good.”

“Are you ready to go?” Mom asks gently. “We took turns driving and napping so we could head right back again. We knew you’d just want to get home as quickly as possible.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods. “Let me just--” He jerks his thumb at the diner. “I’ll be right back.”

He heads back inside and offers Judy an apologetic smile. “Hope you didn’t think I’d run off without settling up.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head and nods towards the scene outside. “I could see how much those people love you, and I thought to myself, somebody that loved must be a hell of a guy. He wouldn’t stiff me.”

Dean laughs, feeling himself flush. He slips enough cash to cover his meals and a hefty tip on the table. “Thanks, Judy.”

“You go on now,” she says, patting his cheek fondly. “Go on home to your family.”

“Yeah.” Dean gives her one last wave as he heads out. “That sounds good.”

They’ve already split back into groups, Mom behind the wheel of the truck with Bobby in the passenger seat and Jack in the back. Sam and Cas are waiting by the Impala, and Sam tosses him the keys. “Thought you might want to drive.”

Dean considers it for a moment, then tosses the keys to Cas. Unlike the rest of them, he doesn’t need to sleep. “Nah,” he says, and climbs into the passenger seat.

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches in a smile, and Dean knows that once the chaos of him being back has settled, he’s going to get so much shit for his Harlequin-worthy reunion with Cas. But for now, Sam just nods and settles into the back of the Impala, and then they’re off.

“You don’t have to talk about, if you don’t want to,” Sam says after a few minutes of silence. “But-- what happened, Dean? How did you get free?”

“Michael left.” It sounds so unbelievable when Dean says it out loud. “I think he was bored, honestly. And then Naomi--” He turns to look at Cas. “Did you know about that?”

“I did,” Cas replies, glancing at him. “I’m sorry, I never got the chance to tell you with all that was happening.”

Dean waves aside his apology. “Anyway. Naomi reached out to Michael, said they needed his help in Heaven. And after months of riding around with the guy, let me tell you, he’s a vain little shit. I guess he wanted to feel important again, so he just--” Dean snaps his fingers. 

He can feel Sam’s eyes on him, assessing. “Just like that, huh.”

Dean flinches. He’d like to make it easy, to keep them thinking everything is fine, but he knows it’s the wrong road to go down, and he’s made enough bad decisions in his time. 

“Sort of,” he concedes. “I can still--” He breaks off, and Cas reaches across the seat between them and lays a hand on his leg, steadying. Dean places his own over it and feels better immediately. “You remember what Jimmy said? About how having an angel inside of you is kinda like being chained to a comet?”

Both Sam and Cas nod. Of course they remember, and they would know better than most.

“Yeah. Well, I don’t think I’m fully off this ride yet, even though he’s gone.”

Cas nods thoughtfully. “Angelic possession leaves traces behind. You have been changed by this, Dean. In what ways, we have yet to see.”

Sam makes a noise of agreement. “Like the bits of Grace left in me after I was possessed by Gadreel. And when--” He swallows roughly. “When I had Lucifer riding shotgun, it messed me up. For a long time. Michael’s just as powerful. But trust me, Dean. You’ll get through it. It just takes time.”

Dean still isn’t sure that he deserves this, Sam’s unwavering support, but he’s so damn grateful for it anyway. He nods tightly, and Cas’ hand tightens on his leg, and they don’t say much else for a long, long time.

He dozes off a few hours into the drive, and when he wakes back up, there’s a horrible second where he thinks this is just another one of Michael’s little tricks, that he’s still possessed and that this isn’t real. But the radio is playing some god-awful country station and Sam is snoring in the backseat and Dean’s stomach rumbles at him, reminding him that it’s been a long time since the diner. 

“Dean?” Cas gives him a cautious glance. “Are you alright?”

Dean rubs one hand over his face. “Yeah,” he says. “For a second there, I thought--” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He looks into the backseat, smiling at the way Sam has spread himself out, all gangly limbs and messy hair. He’s fast asleep, as far as Dean can tell, which means he and Cas are as good as alone.

“So,” he says. “You really missed me, huh.”

It’s meant to be teasing, but there’s too much uncertainty in his voice. Cas sees right through his bullshit, just like he always does. “I did,” he replies. He keeps his eyes on the road, and it’s easier for Dean to hear it this way, without the force of that stare behind Cas’ words. “It hasn’t been easy on any of us.”

Dean winces. Without the oily sheen of Michael’s presence in his head, it’s easier to see how wrong he was about everyone being okay without him. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to fight him.”

Cas makes an impatient noise, and this time he does turn to look at Dean. “It’s not about strength,” he says. “Or at least not about yours. No one is blaming you, Dean. So stop blaming yourself.”

“It was my choice, though,” Dean protests. “I said yes. I let him in. I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.” He laughs bitterly. “I should have listened to you.”

“Maybe.” Cas shrugs loosely. “But we’ve all made reckless decisions, Dean. We’ve all trusted the wrong people. And we’ve all done it to protect each other. We’ve all thought we had no choice, because the thought of letting our loved ones come to harm took any choice out of the equation.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? We’re lucky nothing worse happened, Cas. Michael could have--” He breaks off, remembering what Michael had first shown him. “He could have ended the world, using me to help him do it.”

“But he didn’t.” Cas reaches for his hand again, and Dean lets him. He’s too tired to fight this. “And you’re right, I did warn you. I guess this is the part where I say I told you so.” He gives Dean a wry smile. “Does that make you feel better?”

Oddly enough, it does. “Yeah,” Dean mumbles. “It does.”

“I was angry, at first.” Cas looks straight ahead as he speaks, his shoulders tense. “We all were, at times. Frustrated and angry and confused and hurt. But that never changed the fact that we wanted you back. Even just so we could yell at you for being so foolish.”

Dean is startled into laughter. “Well, thanks for holding off on that, I guess.”

“Don’t think you’ve escaped completely,” Cas warns, but he’s smiling at Dean again, and when he has that look on his face, Dean can’t do anything but smile back. 

“I wouldn’t want to,” Dean replies. 

He tightens his grip on Cas’ hand, and Cas squeezes back. Sam’s soft snores fill the air, and if he looks behind them, Dean can see the lights of Cas’ truck as Bobby and his mom and Jack follow them. 

It’s not going to be easy, Dean knows, because it never is. Not for them. But he also knows they’re at their best like this, united, and that they can weather whatever new crap the universe decides to hurl at them, whether it be the collapse of Heaven or Jack behind the wheel. 

Cas was right. Dean has been changed by this. And the only choice left to make is to choose, every day, to let it be for the better.


End file.
